


They Got Away With Murder

by EllianaDunla



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 00:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2249805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllianaDunla/pseuds/EllianaDunla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s like the blinders have fallen off her eyes and she can see. She is no longer that little girl who thinks that the king is the epitome of kindness and generosity. She has grown up and can see the world for what it is really like."</p><p>Morgana's life as seen through her own eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Got Away With Murder

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Three Song Challenge of Cordelia Rose on ff.net, but this is not a songfic.  
> Enjoy!

_Stop dragging around_   
_I think that somebody knows_   
_I think that somebody knows_   
_So they can watch me explode_   
_Another piece of me is gone again_   
**September, Marianas Trench**   
  


Arthur gets away with everything. It doesn’t take Morgana long to get to this conclusion. No matter how much mischief he gets in, he doesn’t get punished quite as severely as others of his age that get into the same kind of trouble. He’s the favoured child that gets special treatment and it makes him absolutely insufferable.

It is a lesson Morgana learns the very day she meets him. Her parents are dead and someone – she doesn’t know who – has decreed that this means she has to go and live with the king as his ward. And she doesn’t want to. She wants to stay at home, where she has at least the memories of her parents and not in some strange place that she has never been. The night before she leaves she weeps and cries and makes a scene, but when the morning comes, her manners win out and she leaves.

She keeps looking over her shoulder until the sight of her old home can no longer be seen.

The ride to Camelot is long and tedious. Morgana loves riding – a trait she shares, no, _shared_ with her father – but this time it is not a ride for fun. It reminds her that she will never ride with her father from now on, that she will never go back home again and so she hates it. People try to talk to her, but she ignores them. She may not have much of a choice in the matter, but she will let them know that this still does not meet with her approval in another way.

Camelot is beautiful, that cannot be denied, but that is just about all there is to say for it. The company surely does not live up to her expectations, such as they were. The king is courtly enough and she knows well enough that to go against him would be unwise.

The king may have a pleasant manner, but the same cannot be said for his son. ‘My lady. It is a pleasure to meet you at last. I have heard much about you,’ he says. It doesn’t take a genius to establish that he has learned his lines and that he doesn’t mean a word that just came out of his mouth. He is frowning as if he has just encountered a pile of dung instead of her.

And it sets her teeth on edge. ‘No, you haven’t,’ she says before she can even begin to check her own tongue.

The boy pales. ‘Yes, I have!’ he disagrees.

Let him prove it then. ‘What have you heard then?’ she challenges.

Arthur is looking all flustered now, but he tries at least. ‘That you are very beautiful,’ he replies, even though he clearly doesn’t mean a word of it. But well, that is something people could have said about her, she supposes. Her father always told her she would grow into a real beauty. The thought of him nearly makes her cry again, but fortunately she has a distraction near at hand.

Arthur has seemingly run out of things to say and is frantically looking around for something that can save his dignity. ‘And…’ he says to buy himself some time. ‘And… that you have a…’ He’s looking rather panicked now. ‘Beautiful horse,’ he finishes when his eye falls on the horse she has arrived on. If he thinks that the relief in his voice has escaped her notice, he’ll be sorely disappointed.

‘Liar,’ she tells him.

She has the good fortune that she doesn’t get a reprimand for this because the king is amusing himself. He calls her a spirited girl as though it was a compliment. If Morgana had felt a bit better, she might have thought that life in Camelot was not all that bad.

* * *

 

And it isn’t. Life in Camelot is practically a synonym for freedom. The king allows her much. She can roam the castle and the lower town to her heart’s content, gets all the pretty dresses she could possibly wish for and is even allowed to learn how to fight. The last thing she does mainly to spite Arthur. He has been boasting to everyone who wants to hear it – and to those who don’t want to hear it, because no one will tell the prince no – that the training ground is the only place in Camelot that has not been infected with Morgana. And she won’t stand for that.

So she shows up on the training ground one day with a tourney sword and armour. Her father has taught her some moves, so she knows she won’t be totally hopeless. As it turns out, she is far better than that, even good enough to beat Arthur. And oh dear, does she feel triumphant about that. It is about time someone taught that arrogant boy a lesson and Morgana is happy to oblige. It is not as if she can count on his father or the servants to do it for her. Most servants seem to love him for a reason far beyond Morgana’s comprehension – he is a nuisance and certainly nowhere near a darling boy – and even those that don’t are too scared of angering the king to take action. So she is forced to take matters into her own hands.

Of course he pays her back in kind. He allows her to train with him and the knights, but sets her up against Sir Bedivir, one of his best and fastest knights with an insufferable character and a teasing streak he employs every time he beats her. How can one man even be so quick, she wonders one night as she is counting her bruises. Not that Sir Bedivir would dream of really hurting her – the king would take his head and mount it in the throne room for a trophy – but bruises are inevitable when sparring. Morgana’s father has taught her the truth of that long ago. But it is just that she would like to be able to deal out bruises rather than receive them. And it is becoming increasingly apparent that there is very little chance of ever beating Sir Bedivir at all.

On her own.

That’s it. She can’t do it on her own. But if she’d had help, say from someone who also gets beaten by him a lot, well, joined efforts might be a good way to finally give Sir Bedivir a taste of his own medicine.

Except the only person she knows who does get beaten by that knight is Arthur Pendragon – she had a good view from her bedroom window – and she is not certain she is quite ready to propose an alliance against a common foe. Then again, letting Sir Bedivir get away with defeating her time and again – because she cannot see Arthur take pity on her anytime soon; he’s enjoying himself too much – is not an option, so she marches to Arthur’s room and announces her plan. ‘We need to take on Sir Bedivir. You can’t beat him on your own. I know; I’ve seen it from the window. And I can’t do it either. So, we should do it together. We really should take him down a peg or two. I _won’t_ be laughed at.’ And she certainly won’t be laughed at by this jumped-up princeling.

For a moment she thinks he is going to decline, but his frustration with Sir Bedivir must run deeper than she thought. He agrees on the condition she will stop laughing at him. Morgana can meet those terms; she only has to take care not to laugh at him where he can see after all. That is something she can do.

And together they can fight Sir Bedivir too. Later she’ll admit that it must have looked rather silly, two children charging at a full-grown knight and taking him down. Morgana sticks out her foot to make him trip and Arthur makes the most of it by holding the point of his sword against his throat. It may not be knightly behaviour, but she is no knight and all that matters is that she wins the fight. As long as she wins, she doesn’t care how it is done.

Strangely enough she finds she likes Arthur better after this. And the feeling appears to be mutual. The next morning at training he actually shows her the best way to break through an opponent’s defence. Morgana in turn shows him how he can disarm the opponent once he’s broken the defence.

‘Truce?’ he asks when they walk back to the castle.

‘Truce,’ Morgana agrees, secretly pleased that he was the one to break first.

* * *

 

In the years that follow Morgana learns a very important lesson. The king is not as good as he has always appeared. Of course she knows that magic is outlawed and that those who practise it are persecuted and executed. It has been this way for as long as she can remember. Having said that, she has never seen any execution. Uther cites the reason that it is no thing for a young lady to see and Arthur agrees when she tries to persuade him otherwise.

But Morgana is not exactly someone who goes by the rules. Rules are only important when they suit her needs and if not, she ignores them. And there are more enough windows that look out into the courtyard from which the spectacle can also be observed. Most of them will ensure that the king, from his place on the balcony, cannot see her.

Her stomach is filled with nerves as she takes her place, equal parts anticipation and dread. Truth be told, she does not really want to see this; she is only doing this because it was forbidden her to come. Morgana does not respond well to commands and she’ll prove that. She is not some demure little lady who does as she is told. And so here she is, waiting.

The sorcerer who has been accused of using magic to heal people – the people claim he cursed them instead, causing their loved ones to die – is really just an ordinary peasant of nearly forty years. He looks utterly harmless and extremely frightened.

The king himself pronounces the sentence and the peasant begs for his life, tears in his eyes now. He is no sorcerer, he says, he only tried to help, but his neighbours were beyond any sort of help and for heaven’s sake, why won’t anybody listen to him? The king talks on. He doesn’t heed the frightened man below him at all.

It is wrong. Morgana thinks she might be sick. Her skin is crawling and all of a sudden she is cold, colder than she has any right to be with her cloak wrapped so tightly around her. She cannot believe that this man there is a sorcerer. If he was, would he not have magicked his way out of here by now? If she had been born with magic, that was what she would have done. She’d shout a spell and take herself far, far away to save her life. It is the sensible thing to do. If this man is sensible, that was what he’d do too. Except he is standing there, trembling when he is forced to put his head on the block. That is just a peasant who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, a scapegoat for the anger of his fellow villagers. Surely even the king can see that, so why won’t he stop it?

‘I hereby sentence you to death.’

Those words make it perfectly clear that he will not call this off, that he has given this execution his seal of approval and that the man down there will not receive any mercy today. The axe comes down and Morgana turns her head away. The sickening sound it makes when it collides with the victim’s neck – because he is a victim, not a criminal, she is convinced – makes her swallow back bile. She won’t throw up; she’s too much of a lady for that, but she is trembling and her vision is blurry. Almost without her noticing her legs give out from under her and she collapses. It’s easier to let go of her dignity and fold her arms around her knees and cry.

_How could he? How could he?_

‘Morgana?’ That voice is just about the last one she wants to hear right now, but she looks up anyway to find the king standing there, worry written all over his face. ‘Are you unwell?’

She reckons so. Her stomach has yet to settle down and the shivers are still there as well. But that is not what comes out of her mouth. ‘How could you?’ she demands and it sounds like an accusation. Morgana finds she doesn’t care.

He instantly knows what she means and he also knows that she had once again disobeyed him. ‘I explicitly forbade you to watch.’ His voice is as cold as Morgana feels.

‘You cannot shield me from it forever, my lord.’ The respectful title comes automatically, but she feels no respect for him now. _Why didn’t he listen?_ ‘That man was innocent. He had done no harm!’

Uther’s expression hardens. It is like a permanent shadow has fallen over his face. ‘He was a sorcerer, Morgana. They are never innocent.’

Morgana can’t disagree with that, knowing too few sorcerers to have an opinion on the matter. She does however have an opinion on his actions, and it isn’t a favourable one. ‘He wasn’t a sorcerer,’ she says loudly. ‘You must have heard him!’

Morgana thinks she likes the look he bestows on her now even less than the cold anger. He looks at her in pity. ‘You are young, Morgana. You have seen so little of the world and its evils, but trust me, I have seen what harm magic can do. And you should never believe a single word that falls from a sorcerer’s lips. It may one day be your undoing.’

He leaves her there, signalling that this conversation is over and that she is not at liberty to question him. And she is not suicidal; she knows when to stop. But she would not be Morgana if she didn’t commit one little rebellious act at least, so she has food and money sent to the grieving family of the executed man. It’s from the royal treasury, but Morgana rather thinks she has a right to use it, Uther having been the one who committed the crime, so he should at least ease their way, even if it is done without his knowledge.

* * *

 

The dreams begin only a few months after that event. They’re dark and unsettling, but come morning she can almost never remember them. She asks a sleeping draught from Gaius and it works for a time. Until it doesn’t anymore and the dreams become more prominent and she can remember them. That is even worse, because sometimes she could almost swear something she dreams later happens in the waking world. Of course that is the kind of thing she keeps to herself. She’s heard of sorcerers who dreamt the future and if Uther catches as much of a hint that she might have similar experiences, her life might be forfeit. Besides, she doesn’t even know for sure. It’s not as if her dreams are really that clear anyway. So she lies low, but she keeps her eyes open and she _sees_.

What she sees, she doesn’t like. And Morgana is honestly starting to wonder how she could ever have missed Uther’s hatred for magic before. Of course, he’s shielded her from the less than pretty things in life, but she has always had an inquisitive nature. Of course, the question doesn’t really matter now, but now that she is starting to watch, really watch, it doesn’t take that much effort to see. And it angers her as much as it bewilders her. Why? How could anyone feel such hatred? For all his talk of _you weren’t here twenty years ago_ – which of course is true, she wasn’t – she’s never heard anything that sounds like a real explanation.

_He’s hiding something._

Not that Morgana particularly cares about Uther’s motivations at the moment. Honestly, his actions give her enough cause to lose her temper and to forget everything she has ever been told about polite behaviour. Is he out of his mind? Camelot is caught in the claws of some plague that Gaius claims is of magical origin. Morgana believes that, but that doesn’t mean she believes that it is Gwen who has conjured it.

She has already directed her pleas at Arthur and although she can see he doesn’t like it either, he has also stated that he can’t turn a blind eye to witchcraft and a magical poultice has been found in her father’s house. It’s hard to argue with facts, but it is even harder to argue with what she knows in her own heart: Gwen could never be a sorceress. Even if she were, she’d use it to heal people, not to curse them. Gwen is the kindest, gentlest soul Morgana will ever meet, even if she lives to see a hundred years on this earth. There is not a nasty bone in her.

And Morgana values her friendship almost above everything else. Because whereas Morgana is explosive and often angry at the world that is just so unfair, Gwen is soft-spoken, with a wisdom that is not often seen in one her age and a quick smile that never fails to coax Morgana out of her cheerless moods. She would be the last person to ever curse anyone; she just doesn’t have it in her. If Gwen should turn out to have magical powers – and of course she hasn’t; the idea is ridiculous – that should prove once and for all that not all sorcerers are as evil as Uther claims they are.

And so fix this she shall. Gwen doesn’t scare easily, but Morgana has seen the naked fear in her eyes as the guards dragged her away. Everyone knows what happens to sorcerers in this kingdom, even if they are just ordinary folk falsely accused. If it is the last thing she’ll do, she will make the king see sense. She owes that to Gwen.

Gwen is pleading her innocence by the time Morgana makes it to the council chambers.

‘I believe you,’ she says. ‘Perhaps this disease is not always fatal.’ It is not as if anyone has ever seen anything like it before, so what do they know? ‘Have you even thought of that?’ she adds when her words are met only by silence. ‘Perhaps he recovered naturally.’

Uther doesn’t meet her eyes when he asks what she thinks of the poultice that was found – so there actually was some truth to that, she _had_ wondered – but she thinks he is listening, that her opinion still carries some weight. _Just let it be enough._

It isn’t. Morgana doesn’t get a chance to speak again. Gwen denies knowing anything about a poultice – and how can anyone in their senses even disbelieve her? – but Uther hardly hears her, only commanding that she lifts this enchantment as if she knows how to, when Gwen can’t. She’s not unwilling, she is incapable! How can he not see?

Gwen’s desperate wails – so very unlike her – as she is dragged away after hearing her sentence for being in the wrong place at the wrong time is the final straw. Anger and fear are warring in her chest, but it is the fear that wins out. How can she not with her friend facing execution? She’ll beg if she has to.

‘I know Gwen!’ she say. ‘She is my maidservant, not an enchantress.’ The very notion is ludicrous.

‘Have you ever seen an enchantress?’ Uther asks, strangely calm, but cold. ‘Believe me, they bear no sign, no mark. There is no sense of evil in the eye.’

 _Then how do you ever rat them out except when you catch them in the act?_ Morgana wonders, but she doesn’t ask, not with Gwen’s life dependant on her conduct. ‘I’ve seen the way the girl works,’ she argues, not about to concede the point. If she does that, she’ll lose the battle for sure. ‘Her fingers are worn, her nails are broken. If she was a sorceress, why would she do this? Why would she kneel on a cold stone floor morning after morning, when she could make it all happen with a snap of her fingers, like an idle king?’

She catches herself, but too late, the words are already hanging in the air and it will escalate the argument as sure as the sun rises in the east. She is angry, even more so because something is happening and she is powerless to stop it. The frustration only feeds the building rage in her chest and it has to find an outlet before she surely explodes.

Uther has already done so. He turns on her, eyes blazing in rage. ‘You have _no_ right!’ he snarls.

Under any other circumstance, she might have backed down. She is not backing down today. ‘You have no right to cast a judgement on her!’ she shouts back, but she hears the pleading tone in her own voice, begging him to come to his senses.

‘I have a responsibility to take care of this kingdom!’ he booms. ‘I take no pleasure in this.’

She believes that. ‘But you’re sentencing the wrong person!’ Why will he not see?

‘She’s right, father.’ At this point Morgana has almost forgotten Arthur is even in the room, but she could kiss him right about now. ‘You hear the word magic and you no longer listen.’

And he is right. God help them all, but he is right. And it makes Morgana more afraid than any shouting. Because how can they even save Gwen if the king cannot be brought to reason by anything they say or do?

By proving that she didn’t do it. Hard evidence, even Uther cannot argue with that. Truth be told, it is Merlin, Arthur’s clumsy new manservant, who comes up with the plan – with some help of Gaius – but she is happy to help. No, she is eager to help. She has been to visit Gwen and her friend’s attitude has unsettled her. Knowing that Gwen has given up on herself is like a blow to the guts. And Morgana can’t just stand by and watch it all unfold. She _needs_ to act.

So yes, she charms and blackmails Arthur into giving his assistance and she accompanies them when they go to confront the monster at the water supply – and more fool Arthur for trying to send her back – and she tries to throw a torch into the monster’s face for all the good that it does.

But somehow it all works out. The monster is killed, the plague is lifted and Gaius has found the evidence that will set Gwen free. Morgana is right there when she is released, along with Gwen’s father and Merlin, who is beaming so brightly it outshines the torches in that draughty place. For all his clumsiness, he is a brave and loving soul. As she tells him, Gwen is lucky to have him. She promises to keep his secret, but well, she has never said a word about not encouraging them.

‘Merlin tried to give up his own life to save you,’ she remarks casually that night.

Gwen, who is in the process of undoing her hair, stills. ‘Did he?’ she asks in a would-be nonchalant manner.

‘He did,’ Morgana says, stifling a smile. ‘Very gallant of him, don’t you think?’

‘I suppose.’ It is a shame she can’t see her face right now.

‘Your children will be clumsy fools with beautiful smiles,’ Morgana predicts, being a little more forward.

‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my lady,’ Gwen says.

Morgana tries to hide a grin. ‘I am sure you don’t,’ she says amiably, deciding to leave Gwen be for the night. The poor girl has been through enough. She deserves happiness and if Merlin is the one to make her smile, she’ll give her blessing. They’re both good and kind people; they deserve one another. And if they get to be happy, well, then at least something good has come from this ordeal. Because at the back of her mind a question keeps being asked: if such a good person as Gwen cannot avoid the hatred of Uther, then who can?

* * *

 

Certainly not the wounded and frightened boy Merlin ushers into her chambers. He’s looking sort of apologetic, but most of all alarmed.

Of course, that is hardly her first reaction when he storms into her chambers. ‘Have you forgotten how to knock, Merlin?’ she demands. Only when she has already spoken does she see that he is not alone. There’s a boy with him, a young boy with startling blue eyes that silently beg her to help him.

‘The guards were after him,’ is all the explanation Merlin offers.

As if it was their cue, there is knocking on the door. ‘My lady?’

It does not take a genius to figure this situation out and her expression turns from one of indignation to one of shock. Why would a child – is he injured? – be chased by guards in such a way that Merlin thought it necessary to interfere? In Camelot there really only is one explanation. And she may not like this, but she is not about to turn a child over to Uther’s mercy.

There’s another bout of knocking, underlining just how urgent this is. Her hesitation is only due to thinking up a makeshift hiding place. ‘In there,’ she says, pointing at her dressing screen. It’s a decision made in haste, often the kind that she eventually will end up regretting, but she will not regret this one. Of this she is certain.

The guards confirm that the child is magical, a Druid boy is what they call him, and the lie that she hasn’t seen anybody falls from her lips with so much ease that the guard doesn’t doubt her. He only tells her to keep her door locked until he is found.

Morgana has the intention to do just that. Because if he is found here, it won’t be just that child’s life on the line, it will be all of them in the line of danger. She may be excused because of her rank, but they may not, the servants that are more like friends to her than anything else. If she has any say in the matter, no one will ever be executed because of magic any longer, but she has not been given that power. So in her own way she will do what she can.

What she does not anticipate in that moment is how close she will grow to the boy, although in hindsight it is only logical. He lives in her room, hides in her room more like while they attempt to nurse him back to health. He is magical to be sure; he breaks her mirror without touching it when his guardian – friend, father, she doesn’t dare to ask – is murdered. It matters not. He’s only a child, alone in a world that wants him dead because of things he has no control over. He doesn’t talk, won’t even tell her who he is, but she is sure he understands her. It’s right there in his eyes.

‘Why are you helping him?’ Merlin asks when he comes back to her room with some medical supplies.

It’s a good question. She is the king’s ward and she is risking so much for a boy she hardly even knows. It’s the right thing to do of course and she doesn’t think she has much choice. It is either this or see him killed. But that is not what Merlin is asking, she senses. Why does she help a sorcerer? ‘I wouldn’t see an innocent child executed,’ she answers truthfully. ‘What harm has he ever done anyone?’

Merlin is leaning against the wall and for a moment he looks weary. ‘Uther believes he has magic and that makes him guilty.’ He sounds weary too.

With him, it isn’t anger like she feels and maybe it is the lack of that which fuels her own heated reply. ‘Uther is wrong.’ It is one of the first times she has ever expressed that thought to anyone, even to herself. True, she has never made a secret of her opinions, but there has always been a line she wouldn’t cross. But this, seeing that not even children will be spared, it has made her feel so enraged. It makes it easier to speak her mind, because it is the only thing she can do. The day she stops standing up for what is right, she will have resigned herself to this situation. And she cannot see that happening, does not want to see that happening.

Merlin seems surprised, but not shocked. ‘You believe that?’

Something tells her she can trust him. ‘What if magic isn’t something you choose?’ she speculates, stumbling over her words as she tries to formulates a thought that has been months in the making. ‘What if it chooses you?’ What other explanation could there be for this boy being here? Who would choose this?

So they care for him, all three of them. Morgana harbours him and keeps up appearances that everything is as it should be, Gwen smuggles food from the kitchens and whatever else they might need and Merlin tries to cure him with what little knowledge he has. It isn’t much and it isn’t enough. They need more skilled help and so they reluctantly involve Gaius.

It goes without saying that he isn’t pleased that they have all risked themselves like that. He practically orders them to get the child out the moment he is back on his feet and so they come up with a plan that amounts to Morgana taking him through a secret door to the lower town from where he can be taken to a safer place. Back to his own people, preferably.

She dresses up in one of Gwen’s dresses that make her itch all over. Gwen’s clothes are not of the soft fabrics that make up Morgana’s wardrobe, but neither are they dirty. But the cloth is rough-spun, not at all like what she is used to, but she’ll bear it. She has a more important thing on her mind.

It turns out to be one of the most scariest things she has done in her life. The castle is dark and silent, making the sound of their own footsteps feel all that much louder. The boy is holding her hand. It’s feeling warm and strangely reassuring; he’s calmer than she is. His faith in her is astounding, the blind faith of a child who thinks that he is in the company of an adult who knows what they’re doing. Morgana can only hope to keep up appearances, but those don’t do her any good, not when they are found and it all falls apart. She’s failed a young boy who trusted her to see him to safety and she failed him. It will all have been for nothing.

It is that thought and the disappointment and frustration that it leaves in its wake that have her in their grip while she waits for Uther to pronounce judgement on her. What hurts worst is that it was Arthur who found them. She can still see the shock on his face when he discovered who she was, can still hear him say ‘restrain them’ before he turned his back on her. Deep down she knows that he did not have a choice. He was following orders. He would have been in trouble if he had not done what he had been told. But the emotional part of her reminds her that he is the prince, he could have chosen to do the right thing and he didn’t.

‘I did what I thought was right,’ she answers when he questions if after all that he has done for her, this is how she repays his kindness. And it is true, she owes him much, but it is another thing to stand by and watch people suffer at his hands because she owes him so much. It does not mean that she is not her own person who has her own opinions.

‘You think it is right to conspire with my enemies against me?’ he continues. His voice is low now, controlled, but she can sense the simmering anger underneath. The calm is just the surface. She only knows this because she is not much different.

‘How can he be your enemy?’ she counters. ‘He is just a boy!’ A silent boy with trusting eyes, with such sadness and such understanding of the world as well. But at the end of the day, he is still a boy, alone, hurt and frightened. He is nobody’s enemy.

‘He is a Druid!’ Uther is losing his temper as well.

She has never heard of any Druids conspiring against Camelot, no matter what he claims, but that child is not old enough to even know the word conspiracy, let alone he would take part in one.

‘Then punish me,’ she says. She will bear it, whatever it is. ‘But spare the boy. I beg you.’ She is begging again, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that she wins. As long as that is the result, how she gets there is of little consequence.

But she is not winning. She is losing. There is no mercy in the king’s eyes, only ice and hatred. He orders Arthur to arrange an execution and then turns his back on her with the parting words that he hopes that this will serve as a lesson to her.

 _Why? Why is he like this?_ The spoken words follows her thoughts before she can swallow them. ‘Why are you so full of hate?’ she cries. This is something she has been wondering about for a long time and now she needs answers, answers that make sense, not the usual jabbering that amounts to dancing around the subject, never ever getting to the heart of things. He always hints at knowing that those with magic cannot be trusted because of past experiences, but that is all she ever hears. _Why?_ How can someone be like this?

‘Enough!’ The booming shout would have stopped her dead in her tracks if Uther had not done that already. She doesn’t even see it coming, it happens so fast. But his hand is around her throat and he is growling at her.

Morgana is frozen into place. Her heart is racing though, her breath coming in short gasps. He isn’t squeezing, not exactly, but his grip is too tight for comfort and she can only stand, hoping it will end. Even if he would let go of her now, she does not think she could move. If she thought that running with the boy through the dark, fearing every shadow, had been the most frightening thing she has ever done, she was wrong. It is this, seeing the cold hatred in his eyes and knowing that if he can be like this with her, no one is safe once they get on his bad side.

Not even she.

* * *

 

They work out a plan in the end, enlisting Arthur to aid them. It’s just a hunch she has, but it turns out to be the right one. ‘You’re not like your father,’ she tells him and he is not. It turns out that he has mastered bending his father’s rules without disobeying him in front of him. So it’s a secret mission, but that’s fine; only the result is of any importance. So she plays her part in keeping Uther entertained and forces an apology she doesn’t mean from between clenched jaws. _Just you wait._

Gwen has pointed out that she is risking much for this child and yes, she is. She feels connected to him and it is strong. Maybe it is just an urge to protect an innocent. She doesn’t really know and neither does it matter. As long as Arthur gets the boy out, she will count it a victory.

And it works. The guards are bringing the news that the Druid boy has escaped and it is all she can do to keep back that smile that is threatening to come out. It is done. He is safe. And the guards are only searching Camelot. They don’t know that they will have to search elsewhere to find him. They certainly don’t know that if they were to run into him, they would find Arthur right beside him. No, he is not a thing like his father. The realm might be a better place if he were to be king. Unfortunately, that happy day won’t be in the near future.

Predictably, Uther takes the news with less grace and the moment the guards have taken their leave, he turns on her. ‘If I discover that you were somehow involved in freeing this boy, the consequences will be extremely severe,’ he warns her. He sounds calm, but all the more threatening for it. It doesn’t help that he is standing while she is sitting. He is towering over her, more powerful, physically stronger. All she has for armour are her wits and they are no match for his anger.

She makes an empty claim of respecting him too much to betray him. She already betrayed him, if doing the right thing can ever be called that, which Morgana doesn’t think it can.

He sees through it as well. ‘I made a promise to your father that I would protect you,’ he says. He is leaning closer now and her heart beats faster in fear. She wants to run, she wants to get out of this room, but just like before, she is frozen into place. ‘But if you cross me again, I will break that promise without a second thought.’

Have any words ever sounded more threatening before? She doesn’t think so. It is only when he leaves the room that she can find she can breathe again. She remembers thinking once that if people such as Gwen cannot avoid Uther’s hatred, then who can? After tonight, she isn’t sure if there is anyone he could not turn on.

She isn’t safe. If even children are not spared, then what hope do the rest of them have? It’s like the blinders have fallen off her eyes and she can see. She is no longer that little girl who thinks that the king is the epitome of kindness and generosity. She has grown up and can see the world for what it is really like. If only she could turn time back on itself and live in simpler days, but meddling with time would surely involve magic and if Uther ever catches her performing such, she’d be executed before the day is out. That thought effectively sours her wish.

It is two days later that Arthur comes back, proudly demonstrating the fruit of his hard labour with a crossbow. ‘Fox,’ he announces when he walks into her chambers, dropping it on her table.

‘What are you doing?’ she shrieks, because what does he think he is doing, throwing dead animals on her furniture?

‘I thought you would like its fur, to line a cloak,’ he explains. If he is ruffled at all by her shouting, he doesn’t show it. Come to think of it, he might be used to it by now. They’ve known each other for so long and they have come a long way since they were bickering children together. Not that the bickering has stopped, but they are no longer children.

‘Not with the beast attached!’ she throws back. ‘Get that off my table.’

That smile is too cheeky for her liking. ‘As you wish, my lady,’ he says with a mocking bow. ‘Merlin!’

There are days that she feels sorry for Arthur’s manservant. The prince is a trial even on his best of days, but deep down Morgana is convinced there is a good man with his heart in the right place. He did help her get the Druid out after all. She suspects that he was opposed to killing him all along, though she can’t be certain. He just needed that push to follow his heart, just like when she practically pushed him out of the door to find an antidote for Merlin against the king’s orders. Of course she mostly did that for Gwen’s sake – not that those two turned out to be anything but good friends, as it happens – and because it was right, but still, Arthur needs someone like that at times. She’ll be happy to fill that role. He may be one of the few allies she has. If anything is certain, it is that she cannot rely on Uther for that anymore.

‘Mordred,’ Arthur says once Merlin has left the room, fox hoisted over his shoulders.

‘I beg your pardon?’ she asks.

‘The boy’s name. It’s Mordred,’ he clarifies, acting the part of the boy who has managed to dress himself and is extremely proud of himself. Not that Arthur can dress himself; she’s seen what he looks like when Merlin is not around to make him presentable.

‘Thank you,’ she says. Arthur isn’t good with affections, so he chooses actions to demonstrate how he feels. He has broken the boy out and brings her a dead fox and a name to apologise. It’s a little rough around the edges, but she appreciates it all the same.

He would make for a better king than his father.

* * *

 

It is with that thought firmly fixed in her mind that she is standing on a lonely forest road in the pale pre-dawn light. The chill is creeping through her warm cloak, but she doesn’t move. She’s made up her mind and she will stick with this course of action. She can still hear Gwen’s crying inside her head and it is enough motivation to stay right where she is. She has come here with a purpose. Tauren may think she is just returning his stone, but he’d be wrong.

 _You execute Gwen’s father and I will never forgive you._ That’s what she said. She meant it. She still means it. She is furious. Furious, but frustrated as well, frustrated that in the end there was nothing she could do, she was powerless to stop it. _Uther only sees enemies_ , that’s something she said to Merlin. It is true. It is so true and she has only come to realise it over the past couple of months. He has either allies or he has enemies. Enemies are for life – he does not forgive – and allies only need to make one mistake before they too are counted enemies worthy of execution. And she cannot live under the rule of such a man. _One by one, he will make enemies of us all_. He made one of her the moment he clapped her in irons for speaking her mind.

Arthur would be a better king. He’s the one who got her out of that draughty dungeon, who pleaded with his father to get her out. It’s these little things she sees in him, these small gestures – and the grand ones occasionally – that make her believe he is a far better man than his father ever was or will be. It’s a man like him that Camelot needs for a king.

Her plan, such as it is, goes slightly awry though when Tauren, after taking the stone back from her, declares that she is Uther’s ward – as if she doesn’t know and hate it – and he points a sword at her.

‘If you kill me, you’ll regret it.’ She speaks quickly, knowing that it all depends on just how well she can convince him before he decides she is wasting his time and runs her through. The steel of his blade is entirely too close to her stomach for comfort. ‘Because I want Uther dead too.’

And she wants that, _needs_ that. It is convenient that this is also what her supposed ally is wanting to hear. Not that he knows that he wants it; he is clearly caught off guard by what she says, scoffs at her words, wonders how the beloved Lady Morgana can ever want the king cold in his grave. She shows him her wrists, still chafed and a fiery red from where the manacles were around them.

That changes his mind. The swords that are still pointed at her, but he is revealing his plan and it is bad. He must be desperate. Well, so is Morgana, but she likes to think she at least has better plans, ones that will yield result much sooner than the path of bribery that Tauren has in mind and that will fail at any rate. She has better sense than that.

It takes hardly any effort to lure him out of the castle and to her father’s grave. Well, when she says that it hardly takes any effort, she means that it is easy to persuade Uther. To face the memories that she uses to achieve her aim is another matter entirely. They have been trying to surface ever since Gwen’s father died and now that she has to use them, they are taking control. The tears and the tremble in her voice are very real when she throws her own father’s death in his face. He died in battle, probably still hoping the reinforcements the king had promised him were on their way. They never came and he died for unfulfilled promises. Uther might have signed his death sentence himself. His actions had condemned him.

But beside sadness, she also feels anger. That’s what makes it hard to keep up the façade. Over and over again people keep on dying and she knows who is to blame. Let Arthur’s reign begin. For her, it can’t come soon enough.

And so here they are, walking the final part to the grave on foot, just Uther and her. The guards, at her request, remain behind to guard the horses. The king has told them that they will not be in any danger here, but he only says that because he doesn’t know any better. She does, but she is not about to tell him so.

And it is a trial even being near him and play the dutiful ward. She is so angry at him, but she can’t show it. Underneath that anger something else is growing, though. It’s unease and she finds it hard to look at him, knowing she is leading him directly to his death. Can she do this? Can she stand by and watch a man be killed? There is a small voice in the back of her head that is all too quick to remind her that she is not like him, that she doesn’t kill people. She silences it by telling it that someone has to step up and end his reign that has cost so many lives. Somebody has to, so why not her?

Then her father’s grave monument comes into sight and she has altogether more important matters on her mind. It has been years since she has been to this place. When she first came to Camelot, she had come every two months or so. It gave her solace in a way, made it easier to remember him. Her memories of him have been fading year by year, ever vaguer, and eventually she stopped coming because she felt guilty that she could not recall the shape of his nose and what colour his eyes were.

But here she is again, but not just for visiting. She has an ulterior motive this time. It doesn’t stop the memories from coming, unbidden. She’s four years old and she is thrown into the air by a black-haired man with a deep rumbling laughter. She’s not afraid; she knows that he’ll always be there to catch her. Then another memory and she is standing in the armoury, listening attentively as her father explains the uses of armour and lets her help him put it on him. He patiently tells her where she goes wrong and they laugh about it afterward. Then another memory, a maid coming into her room telling her that her father will not be coming home ever again and she is to live at Camelot, a place where she’s never been before.

Uther’s fault. Wherever she looks, it is always somehow his fault.

But then he speaks. ‘Your father was the greatest man I’ve ever known.’ And there are more words: truth, justice, valour, courage, honour.

But that is not the man she has known. To her, these words don’t mean anything. All she knew of him was that he was her father, that she loved him more than she could ever say and that she lost him when she was ten. And ever since, her recollection of him is getting scantier with every passing year. Nowadays there is only just a dull longing in her chest for something that cannot ever be. Most of the time she ignores the feeling; it’s easier, less painful. Besides, she fancies herself to be of a practical nature. It wouldn’t serve any sort of purpose.

And the king just keeps on talking; she’s not used to it from him. Normally he only mentions her father in relation to a promise made about her. Otherwise he never speaks of him, except to say that he was a good man. That she knows; he loved her as much as she loved him.

‘When Gorlois died, I lost the truest friend I ever had,’ he continues. ‘For he was as fearless in questioning my judgement as he was in defending my kingdom. That’s the mark of a true friend.’

She has never known that side of her father. She doesn’t think Uther is lying to her – why would he? – but she can’t confirm or deny it. ‘I only know I loved him and he was taken from me.’ It pains her that this is the clearest memory she has of him.

There is a hand on her shoulder and she wants to shake it off. She does not need his comfort. He left her father on the battlefield and had Gwen’s father murdered. He’s a cold-hearted killer who is seemingly incapable of regret. She wants nothing to do with him and why won’t Tauren just hurry up?

‘When he died and I took you in, you fought me from the beginning.’ Uther seemingly is lost in his memories and they are true enough. She has never been afraid to say what she thinks, not until recently. ‘Your will is as strong as my own. You challenge me as a friend must, as your father did in his time.’

Some good that has done her. Her wrists still hurt; that is not an experience she will soon forget. ‘And when I do, you clap me in irons.’ It is too much to ask that she controls her anger now.

‘I know I am not an easy man,’ he admits. ‘My temper… blinds me sometimes and there are things that I regret.’

Now this is new. Uther Pendragon hasn’t regretted anything in his life, not that she knows. He just charges ahead after whatever aim he has in mind. Never once does he apologise. Rarer even are the times he regrets.

It takes her completely by surprise and finally can she bring herself to look at him. ‘Gwen’s father?’ she asks. It won’t be easy to forget how devastated her maid looked when she heard the news. And Uther did that, to her and to so many, _countless_ , others.

‘Yes.’

It’s not spoken with much force, sounds more like he’s been made to admit something extremely unpleasant, but he has said it all the same. Now she looks at him, at his face. He means it. He really, truly means it.

‘Do you think you were wrong to have Tom killed?’ It’s as though she has suddenly fallen asleep and is dreaming. It feels so surreal and she needs to hear him say it again, needs to hear a confirmation of some kind.

He doesn’t back out; he says it again. ‘Yes.’ There are no excuses this time, no jabbering about the law and the evilness of those that get involved with sorcerers. Just that one simple word.

He is not a tyrant.

He is not the man that she thought he was.

He is different.

Better.

And so she gasps for air as the realisation crashes over her, the realisation that he does care after all, that he really wants to reconcile. There are more words and they matter, they matter so much and she can barely believe that she is even hearing them. She has been wrong to assume she knew him and she has been so wrong to plot his death.

It’s the moment she remembers that – that she has not just come here to remember her father, but to kill the man who was his best friend in life – the moment Uther asks for her forgiveness, that she catches sight of Tauren with a very long knife in his hand.

Her warning comes only just in time. It’s an impulse, but one that she thinks is right. Morgana has always prided herself in standing up for what is right. She won’t change now. Killing Uther would be a mistake, an error, a wasted opportunity. He’s promised to listen to her more, so surely there is hope still for this kingdom.

So instead of killing him, she saves him. As she pulls the knife out of Tauren’s now lifeless body, she knows she made the right decision.

Uther is worth one more chance after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is going to have five chapters (one for each season), so there is more to come. Having said that, Morgana is a difficult character to write for and I really hope I manage to portray her right.  
> This story serves as a sort of counterpart for my (shorter) story She’d Get Away With Murder, which looks at Morgana through Arthur’s eyes, but basically I am following canon with the addition of some scenes of my own making, so you don't have to read that to get this.  
> Anyway, thank you for reading. A review would be very much appreciated if you have the time.


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